


the weight of all our memories

by spinnerofyarns



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Gen, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, Jared's mother - Freeform, Jared's tragic past, Richard being awkward, Richard comforting Jared, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-15 22:59:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8076217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinnerofyarns/pseuds/spinnerofyarns
Summary: Every year, Jared takes November 15th off to mourn the anniversary of his mother's death. At Vassar and Hooli no one really notices he's not around, but at Pied Piper his absence is a lot more noticeable. Richard goes to check on him and ends up comforting him...and more.Title from "i believe" by Christina Perri.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to write something about Jared grieving his mother, and Richard comforting him, so here it is.
> 
> (Today just happens to mark exactly a year and a half since the death of someone close to me, which I swear was purely coincidental)  
> \------  
> Hey! If you're reading this and/or if you've ever enjoyed anything I've written, I hope you'll consider participating in the SV fan fundraiser for CAIR and the ACLU. You can donate anytime between now and March 15, and any little bit helps! Go here for more info: https://svagainsttyranny.tumblr.com/

            It starts the year after Donald’s mother dies. He wakes up on November 15th and finds that he can’t get out of bed, like there’s a heavy weight on his chest pushing him down into the mattress. He’s lucky it’s a Saturday and his aunt and uncle are out all day, so no one hears him crying in his room.

            It happens again the following year, and the year after that. He calls in sick to school and spends the day in bed on November 15th every single year, crying and shaking and reliving that awful day when he came home from school and found his mother’s body.

\----

            _“Mom? Mom, are you home?” No answer, so he takes off his shoes and goes into the kitchen. She’s not there. He leaves his backpack on a chair and walks into his room. She’s not there either. “Mom?” he calls again. She doesn’t answer. He’s getting scared. She’s not in her room. The only room left is the bathroom. He pushes the door open carefully, and then sees her in the bathtub._

_She’s not moving and her eyes are open but there’s nothing there and the water is red with blood and oh god she can’t be dead._

_Donald kneels beside her. “Mom? MOM!” He shakes her and her head lolls sideways onto her shoulder. A razor blade falls out of her left hand as it goes slack. “MOMMY!!!!”_

\----

            November 15th is usually the only sick day he takes. When he can, he stays at home. When that’s not an option, he goes to the library and cries in the bathroom, or hides somewhere in the house until his family leaves and he can cry.

            Sometimes hiding doesn’t work and someone finds him and he’s too upset and exhausted to do anything but cry as he’s shoved against a wall and choked and beaten and shouted at. Those times are the worst of all.

            At Vassar it’s much easier – no one holds him accountable, no one notices if he stays in his room all day. He lets his professors know he won’t be in class and goes to office hours to make up for it, but has the sense that nobody would notice or care if he didn’t.

            One year, a couple of his friends drop by after a cappella practice to check on him. They bring him tea and ask if he needs anything and Donald desperately wishes that he didn’t look so pathetic after crying all day.

            His boyfriend calls and asks if he’s okay and when Donald chokes out “I’m fine,” he hangs up, satisfied.

            The older he gets the easier it is to get time off for November 15th. Sometimes he has to come into work sick to make up for it, but that’s still better than the alternative. At Hooli, no one even notices that he’s gone.

            “Did I miss anything?” he asks Gavin the morning after his first November 15th at Hooli. Gavin looks at him quizzically. “I didn’t realize you weren’t here.”

            That’s just how it is. No one cares enough to notice that he’s gone, and he’s fine with that. It’s easier that way.

\----

_Richard,_

_Sorry to bother you so late but I’m not feeling very well, so I won’t be coming into work tomorrow. I’m dreadfully sorry for the inconvenience and will endeavor to make up any work I miss._

_I apologize again for the short notice and inconvenience._

_Sincerely,_

_Jared_

            Richard stares at the email on his phone, blinks, and re-reads it. It’s impossible that Jared would be sick. Jared doesn’t _get_ sick. But it’s late and Richard is tired, so he just fires off a quick response.

 

_Jared,_

_It’s okay, take as much time as you need. I hope you feel better soon, let me know if you need anything._

_Cheers,_

_Richard._

\----

Donald – Jared now, Jared for the past 5 years, though that doesn’t really change things as much as he expected it to – wakes that morning with the weight of 20 years sitting heavy on his chest, like a demon staring him down with its hot breath in his face.

            He’s not sure why he expected it to be better – one year was horrible, ten years had almost killed him, and every year since then has only gotten more painful. From that, he could extrapolate that twenty should only be worse. And here it is, and it hurts so much that he can barely breathe.

            He rolls onto his side, wrapping his arms tightly around himself and tries to catch his breath. Instead he finds himself sobbing uncontrollably, his entire body shaking. After so many years, he’s learned to cry silently, but his body still trembles and tosses on his tiny cot in the corner of the server room as he gasps for air, tears streaming down his face.

            He wonders, in an odd detached sort of way, if his mother can see him from…wherever she is. If she knows how much he still misses her, 20 years down the line.

            He wonders if she’s proud of the person he’s become without her.

\----

            The entire room feels off without Jared, Richard thinks. Something – some _one_ – important is missing. It’s too quiet, and strangely empty in spite of being as full as usual.

            Around noon Richard takes a break and microwaves himself some ramen. He sits in the kitchen picking at it sullenly and worrying. Usually when he takes his lunch break Jared spends it talking to him about something about running Pied Piper, or birds, or whatever else fills the silence.

            Richard didn’t realize how much he likes hearing Jared talk until now.

 _Has Jared even eaten anything today?_ Richard wonders. He hasn’t seen Jared come into the house all day, but maybe he’s got some food in the garage that he can eat.

            Richard inhales a few more mouthfuls of noodles, and then decides to go check if Jared needs anything. It’s the least he can do.

            He knocks on the door leading from the back hall of Erlich’s house into the garage. “Jared?” he calls. “Jared, I just wanted to see if you needed anything.”

            No answer. Richard bit his lip. On the one hand, Jared probably wants his privacy, but on the other hand, what if he's unconscious or hurt or dying?

            Richard gently pushes the door open. “Jared,” he says, “I’m coming in, is that okay? I just wanted to check on you.”

            Silence. And then, a soft whimper from the corner of the room where Jared’s cot is tucked against the wall.

            Richard’s heart jumps into his throat. “Jared, are you okay?” he asks, slowly making his way between the servers to Jared’s bed. He hears another whimper as he approaches and sees Jared curled into a tiny little lump on the cot, his back to Richard, trembling, with his arms wrapped around himself as though in pain.

            Richard approaches him slowly, probably the way someone would approach a frightened injured baby deer. “Jared,” he says softly, “what’s wrong? Are you hurt? Do you need a doctor?”

            Jared lets out a noise that sounds like a choked pained sob. “I’m sorry, Richard,” he says, sniffling.

            Richard kneels on the cement floor beside Jared’s cot. “Why are you sorry? What happened?”

            Jared sniffles again. “I know you don’t like to see me crying and I’m sorry for crying in front of you.”

            Richard blinks in confusion. “Jared, I don’t – I mean – Jared, it’s okay, you don’t need to apologize for crying, it’s a normal reaction to strong emotions or pain or anything really, it’s okay. You can cry as much as you need to, I don’t have a problem with that.” He pauses to take a deep breath. “But what happened? Why are you crying, are you in pain? What hurts?”

            Jared shakes his head, still with his back to Richard. “I’m fine,” he says. “Don’t worry about me.”

            Richard reaches out and gently places his hand on Jared’s shoulder. When Jared doesn’t flinch away, Richard gently rubs his hand up and down Jared’s upper arm. “Jared, you’re clearly not fine,” he says softly. “I understand if you don’t want to talk about it but I’m just going to stay here for a bit in case you need anything, okay?”

            Jared makes a noise of acknowledgement that sounds like a whimper. Richard stays by his cot, kneeling on the ground, his hand on Jared’s shoulder, for what feels like hours but can’t actually be more than a few minutes, until Jared’s cried himself out and Richard feels him relax.

            Jared rolls over, wiping tears off his face, and is surprised to find Richard still kneeling beside his cot, looking at him with concern.

            _God, he looks terrible,_ Richard thinks, and bites the inside of his cheek, feeling guilty for even thinking that. But Jared does look pretty rough, red-eyed and blotchy, in a rumpled white t-shirt and boxers printed with little cartoony birds, and still gasping, trying to even out his breathing. Richard bites his lip again and reaches for Jared’s hand.

            Jared grabs onto Richard’s hand like it’s the last life preserver on the Titanic, and presses it to his chest. Richard can feel Jared’s heart pounding under his hand, and thinks _I definitely shouldn’t be able to feel his ribs like that, that can’t be healthy_.

            Jared stares straight into Richard’s eyes as he draws deep shaky breaths trying to even out his heart rate. Richard fumbles for something to say. _God, what does Jared do in these situations?_ “Shhh, shhh,” he repeats, “shhh, it’s okay, take your time, deep breaths, deep breaths, there you go.” Slowly, Jared’s heart rate returns to something closer to normal and his grip on Richard’s hand loosens.

            “Are you okay?” Richard asks again, and wishes he could ask something else, anything else.

            Jared sits up on the cot and pats the spot next to him. “Sit,” he says, his voice tear-choked and raspy from crying. He clears his throat and tries again. “Sit, please.”

            Richard clambers up, wincing – the cement floor hasn’t been kind to his bony kneecaps – and takes a seat on the cot next to Jared. Jared wrings his hands in his lap, looking anywhere but at Richard.

            “I’m sorry,” he says again. Richard gently places a hand on his back.

            “It’s okay,” Richard says.

            Jared bites his lower lip, still not looking at Richard. He picks up the slightly ratty wool blanket on his cot and wraps it around himself.

            “Do you want some water, or tea or something?” Richard offers. “I can go make you some tea, if you – “ He gets up and moves to go to the kitchen to make Jared some tea but Jared wordlessly grabs on to the sleeve of Richard’s hoodie, pulling him back down. “Okay. Okay, I’m staying, I’m here, what can I do? Do you want a hug or – oh!” Jared wraps his arms around Richard’s waist and for a second Richard regrets offering a hug, but he bites the inside of his cheek to repress the thought and awkwardly hugs Jared back, patting his bony shoulder.

            Jared holds on to Richard for a few seconds, then lets go and shrinks back a little.

            “It’s…today’s the anniversary of my mother’s death,” he finally says, looking at the floor.

            “Oh. Oh, god, Jared, I don’t – I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry.” Richard says, fiddling with the string on his hoodie at a loss for words.

            Jared sighs. “I…I know I should be over it by now, it’s been twenty years after all. I don’t know why it still hurts so much.”

            Richard does the math and realizes Jared would have been at most nine years old when his mother died. “It’s not – I mean – it’s okay,” he finishes lamely. “There isn’t an expiration date on grief.” He wants to punch himself in the face as soon as he says it, it sounds so stupid and generic.

            Jared tugs at a loose thread on his blanket. “Every year on November 15th I just get so sad I can’t get out of bed. It’s kind of pathetic, I know, but…I just miss her so much.”

            Richard places his hand on Jared’s shoulder again and squeezes gently. “It’s not pathetic. She was – she’s important to you.” He pauses, and then adds, “When I was at Stanford I spent an entire week almost constantly in bed because I was too anxious and depressed to get up and do anything. I know it’s not the same but…” He trails off, feeling stupid.

            Jared sniffles again. “Sometimes I wonder if she can see me,” he admits. “From…wherever she is now. I wonder what she thinks of me.”

            Richard squeezes his shoulder again. “I think she’d be proud of you,” he says softly, and immediately feels a blush flood his face. “I mean, you’re so smart and so kind and so hardworking and just…you’re a great person. You turned out really great. Anyone would be proud of you.”

            “Oh!” Jared says, surprised, and Richard sees tears in his eyes again. “Richard, that’s…that’s incredibly kind of you to say.” He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand.

            Richard gives Jared an awkward one-armed side hug. “I mean it,” he says. “You’re a really good person. Now, I’m going to go get you something to drink, are you going to be okay here for a few minutes or do you want to come in with me?”

            “I think I’ll be all right here,” Jared says. “I’m not ready to…face everyone just yet.”

            “Okay,” Richard says. “I’ll be right back. You take your tea with almond milk, right?”

            Jared nods, wrapping his blanket a little tighter around himself.

            True to his word, Richard returns a few minutes later with a steaming mug of tea. Jared takes it from him and wraps his hands around the mug, warming himself up. “Thank you,” he says. “For all of this, I mean.”

            Richard sits down next to Jared on the cot again. For a few minutes they sit in silence, Jared sipping his tea and Richard watching him. It’s a bit odd but Jared finds it comforting, peaceful.

            Finally Richard speaks again. “Tell me about your mom,” he says softly. “I mean, if you want to,” he adds immediately. “If you feel up to it. I don’t want to force you into anything.”

            Jared stares into his mug of tea and takes a few seconds to collect his thoughts before speaking again. “She was always very supportive of me,” he says. “She’d always listen when I talked about things I liked, and she was genuinely curious to hear what I’d learned in school every day. She was a nurse and she worked night shifts a lot of the time, but she’d always try her best to be there to make me breakfast before school in the morning, and call me when I got home, and she always went to all my school plays and concerts and everything, even if it meant she’d have to work an extra inconvenient night shift.” He pauses, bites the inside of his cheek. “We never had a lot of money, but she always made sure I had enough to eat, and warm clean comfortable clothes, and we’d go to the library every weekend and get a bunch of books, and then we’d come home and do laundry and she’d make a nest out of the sheets when they were warm and fresh out of the drier, and we’d snuggle up in that nest and she would read aloud to me. We were happy. Well, I was, and I thought she was, but I guess…I don’t know. I guess she wasn’t as happy as I thought.”

            “What happened?” Richard asks, and then immediately wants to kick his own ass. “You don’t have to answer that,” he says. “I’m a fucking asshole. Ignore me.”

            Jared shakes his head. “It’s all right.” He takes a deep breath and another long sip of tea before continuing. “She committed suicide. I came home from school and found her body.” He takes another sip of tea. “In college I was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder and the more I think about it the more likely it seems that she suffered from the same illness, which would explain…what happened.”

            Richard pulls Jared into a tight comforting hug, rubbing his back. “I’m so sorry,” he says. The idea of tiny nine-year-old Jared coming home from school and finding his mother dead is painful to even think about, and Richard desperately wishes he could go back in time and change Jared’s life to prevent that from ever happening.

            Then again, maybe that would also mean that he and Jared would never meet. That’s something Richard doesn’t want to sacrifice.

            “I’m so so sorry,” Richard says again, squeezing Jared a little tighter before letting go.

            They sit in silence again, until Jared says “Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if she hadn’t died. If I hadn’t ended up…where I did. I mean, I’d probably be a completely different person.” He chuckles. “I might never have moved to California, or worked at Hooli, or met you.”

            Richard marvels at the way Jared seems to have read his mind. “I’m glad we did meet, though,” he says. “I mean, the circumstances that led to this point were…not exactly great, but I’m glad we got here.”

            Jared smiles, then suddenly, quickly, leans forward and presses his lips against Richard’s.

            Richard finds his own lips reflexively puckering and kissing back. It’s quite pleasant actually – Jared’s lips are cold but very soft, much softer than Richard’s own, and he’s a confident kisser.

            They break apart and Jared leans back. “I’m – I’m so sorry, Richard,” he stammers. “I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t mean to – well, I did, but – “ He breaks off as Richard reaches for his hand.

            “Don’t apologize,” Richard says. “I liked it.” He leans forward and kisses Jared again.


End file.
